‘Ay, that’s what ’tis,’ replied ‘the Heckler’ to my query, ‘it’s an “in memoriov’m”—Latin, ye ken, meanin’ in memory ov him. The words is alike, mevvies, but it’s Latin language, I’s warn’d, an’ I howked it oot upon that headstone myself wiv a clasp-knife.’

I knelt down upon the sandy dune and brushed aside the bents that nearly covered the squat gray stone with their long lashes, and eventually deciphered a straggling array of figures which for their illegibility would have enraptured an antiquary.

‘It was just below us,’ continued ‘the Heckler,’ ‘that I found his cap, an’ thinkin’ him drooned, an’ him bein’ a favour-yte wi’ me, I just put up that bit stone for him an’ carved his initials on it, an’ the Latin, an’ G. C., that’s for us, “the Heckler,” ye ken, his mark. But it was a false alarm efter aal, an’ noo that Jim Hedley’s a Right Hon. Lord Mayor oot iv Australie, I’s warn’d but when he’s put under the sod he’ll hev a hearse an’ four horses an’ a proper musulyum’ (mausoleum) ‘tiv hisself.’

‘What made you think he was drowned?’ I inquired. ‘Did you think it a case of suicide?’

‘Ay, o’ course I did; we aal did that, an’ not wivvoot reasons,’ responded ‘the Heckler,’ ‘for he was full o’ misery at that time, an’ wanted ti get shot o’ the whole lot ov it. Jim was a fine, tall, proper lad—“bonny Jim” the lasses called him—wunnerfu’ handy, too, iv aal sorts of ways, an’ as for behaviour, wey, he could talk ti my lord as canny as tiv a pot-boy.

‘Well, wiv aal these gifts o’ fortune it wasn’t surprisin’ he got hisself sweetheartin’ wiv a young, bonny, quiet-faced lassie, daughter ov aad Sheepshanks, the farmer, close in by the village.

‘It was a bit lift for Jim, for she had some brass, but aad Sheepshanks, he tries to forbid the “callins”’ (banns) ‘i’ church; “for what’s a pitman,” says he, “that a farmer’s daughter should marry on?—a dirty-faced, drunken, dog-lovin’, gamblin’ chep,” says he; an’ a lot o’ gob o’ that kind, ye ken, bein’ a red-hot Tory wiv a lot o’ Noah’s-ark kind ov ideas iv his head.

‘The lassie didn’t think that, though; she just warshipped Jim, followin’ him aboot wiv her eyes everywhere, just like the aad bitch’ (here he nodded towards the greyhound beside him) ‘does “the Heckler.”

‘Well, they marries an’ has a bit fam’ly, an’ Jim gans ahead quick; he was marrow’ (mate) ‘wi’ me as a hewer yence, an’ then he becomes a deputy, an’ bein’ a great reader an’ a gran’ speaker, there was some talk o’ makin’ him wor Member o’ Parlyment when he got a bit older. Well, it had aal been plain sailin’ for Jim so far, an’ everybody thought his success was sartin, but he soon came tarr’ble nigh makin’ a tragedy ov hisself, poor chap.

‘There was a young widow woman came ti live doon here at the Prospect House ower there. She’d been married on a fat old chap that had made a lot o’ brass i’ the toon i’ publics, an’ they used to come here for a bit i’ the summer, an’ when he died she comes doon ti the “Prospect” ti bide for good an’ aal.

‘I sometimes think,’ continued my companion after a slight pause, ‘that it’s a sair pity folks isn’t sometimes drooned like kittens or “put under” same as dogs that turn oot no use. It wud save a lot o’ misfortunes an’ misery, I’s warn’d, an’ unless ye drooned a Gladstone, or a John Wesley, or mevvies even a “Heckler,” the world would be aal the better o’t.

‘Anyways, she should have been drooned slap off as a babby, for she was a rank bad un—just rank bad ti the bone—an’ when a woman is bad, she’s just the devil’s own viewer[11] or deputy, by Gox!

‘She had been on the stage, ’twas said, at one time, an’ there was queer stories aboot her, so that the gentry-folk aboot here would have nowt ti do wiv her, sae she had aal the better opportunity ti play her tricks wi’ Jim.

‘She was free wi’ the brass, ye ken, an’ give subscriptions awa for the askin’, providin’ she had her name an’ address clagged up large on the play-bills, an’ was a champion at gettin’ up concerts for wor Mechanic Institute an’ such-like entertainments.

‘That was hoo she first got a hand upon Jim, for he had a gran’ voice—a perfect champion at harmony he was, an’ she just buttered him up properly. It was “Oh, Mr. Hedley, an’ what a fortin ye would have made in the Opera!” “Sing it again, Mr. Hedley, it’s fair ravishin’,” an’ so she carried on till she had him awa to practise duetties wiv her at her hoos, an’ made him stay ti supper wi’ glasses o’ wine tiv it—yellow shampain wine that’ll set your brain iv a froth, I b’lieve, an’ at the finish she has him just drugged wiv her enchantments.

‘There was one night I mind I was oot walkin’ an’ chanst ti pass by alang that road there that leads past the hoos—the trees wasn’t grown up then, ye ken, an’ I could spy a bit in through the windie, which was open on the night—it bein’ summer then, d’ye see.

‘She was settin’ beside the pianner playin’ pretence wiv it, an’ castin’ up white eye-glances at Jim soft-like, noo an’ again, with a sort ov insolence, too, as though she kenned her power ower him—drawin’ oot the very marrow an’ soul ov him wiv her perfections.

‘She was aal clad i’ silks an’ satins, like a play-actress—her bosom gleamin’ wi’ jools, an’ Jim was leanin’ against the pianner gazin’ at her, fair drunk wiv her blandishments. ‘I cuddn’t stand by an’ just do nowt ava, sae I let fly a yell upon the night, “Ho-way home ti thy own lawfu’ missus, an’ leave that d——d hussy alone.”

‘He gave a sudden start at that, an’ leaps round ti the windie, claps it ti wiv a smash, an’ pulls the curtains ower it.

‘Well, I kenned then by that token that it was aal ower wi’ Jim. She had him fast, an’ nowt could be done, for interferin’ i’ them cases is warse than useless; but I was sair, sair grieved for him an’ his wee quiet bonny-faced wife, an’ I walked awa home callin’ that woman aal things I could lay my tongue ti under heaven.

‘Things went gradually from warse ti warse; he neglected his work an’ avoided his wife, an’ he became tarr’ble violent iv his temper, an’ nigh offered ti fight me yence when I tried ti argy wiv him upon his foolishness. Well, the crissis comes one night when his wife follows him ti the Prospect Hoos an’ walks straight inti the drorin’-room where him an’ the other woman was. He’d just been threatened by the viewer, d’ye see, wi’ gettin’ his notice if he didn’t pull hisself tegither, an’ knawin’ things were aaltegither wrang wiv him, he just gans slap off ti the woman oot o’ pure recklessness, for he was none o’ yo’r half an’ half gentlemen, an’ as he was gannin’ ti the deevil, wey, he wud gan wiv a brass band, ye ken.

‘His wife comes in upon them like a ghost, an’ never heedin’ the other woman, cries tiv him, haudin’ oot her arms for him, “Oh, come back, Jim, come back; divvn’t break my heart!”

‘Jim says nowt, but glares moodily on the ground, an’ there’s silence for a bit. Then the woman begins ti laugh saftly tiv herself, eyein’ Jim’s missus scornfu’ like frae top ti toe standin’ there, small an’ shabby-dressed an’ tearfu’, an’, “Wey doesn’t thoo gan?” says she, “here’s yo’r hooskeeper come ti fetch thoo home!” she says.

‘Jim gies a start at this an’ looks up wi’ blazing eyes at his temptress, then he says tiv his wife, “Gan home, Mary, gan home; this is no a fit place for thoo,” an’ sae she gans awa softly, weepin’ like a desolate bairn.

‘Soon as the door shuts he turns upon the other woman, an’ he says sternly, “This is the end o’t, Susan; I’m gannin’ awa’ an’ ye’ll never see me mair. You’ve plenty brass, an’ can fend for yo’rself. I’ve given thoo my life, an’ I can do nae mair; sae good-bye, my lass, for ever an’ aye.”

‘But she rushes tiv him, an’ clasps her arms roond aboot his neck an’ sweethearts him an’ swears they must get married; but Jim, he puts her quietly awa’, an’ wiv a stone-set face gans oot o’ the hoos an’ straight for the shore.

‘Tossin’ his cap on ti the ground, he walks right inti the waters an’ begins swimmin’ oot, right oot inti the sea, there ti droon hissel’ an’ his troubles straight awa.

‘Well, mevvies he was ower strong ti be easy ti droon; mevvies the cold water cleared his mind a bit, an’ he thought shame on hissel’ ti leave wife an’ bairns ti shift for theirsels; anyhoo, as he said efter, when he saw the red light of a little schooner ridin’ waitin’ for the tide off the harbour, a thought cam intiv his brain, “Wey not gan right awa an’ make a fresh start iv a fresh place?”

‘The thought grows on him, an’ he swims oot ti the schooner just as she was standin’ awa for London town, an’ he hails her an’ is taken on board i’ the nick o’ time. Another minute an’ she would have been oot o’ sight an’ hearin’, an’ Jim would have been a corpse in another ten minutes, I’s warn’d.

‘Well, nowt is heard ov him for months an’ months. “The Heckler” carves an “In memoriov’m” on that headstone; his missus gans inti “blacks,” an’ the other woman leaves the Prospect Hoos an’ gans right awa from these parts.

‘One day though, Jim’s missus comes alang tiv us cryin’ an’ laughin’ aal at yence, haudin’ up a letter and kissin’ it between whiles. “It’s from Jim! Jim!” she cries, “an’ Jim, sweet Jim, he kept hissel’ alive for me an’ Jackie an’ Sal! Oh, he loves me yet, my Jim!”

‘Well, it seems as hoo he had gan oot tiv Australia, an’ efter a bit wanderin’ had gettened hisself a very canny sitivation at a gold mine, an’ he sends aff at yence for his missus an’ bairns, an’ a week later awa they starts.

‘They finds Jim doin’ first-class when they gets there, an’ he went ahead like a hoos-o’-fire as soon as he gets his missus an’ bairns back tiv hissel’, an’ the past wiv its clartiness was just clean wiped out between them.

‘An’ noo he’s the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor o’ Ballarat, or some such place, an’ cannot mak’ enough ov his missus and bairns, they say.

‘There’s some women mevvies,’ added ‘the Heckler’ in conclusion, ‘who wouldn’t have pardoned their man, but she was one o’ the sort that are just faithfu’ ti death—nowt can tarr’fy them aff, an’ it’s fair providential that it should be so, for there’s many men noo livin’ who wud just have been iv hell lang syne else.’